Hey slummer, check my nizzles.
Here's the deal. It's like 2008 and I'm not in the best of states while giving the blog update while feeling saturated with differing kinds of alcolates. Last night I was humbled by the simplified brilliance that is David Sedaris at the Spokane "Get Lit" festival, as he read new works such as fables, home stories, and a few diary entries. Crash McNally nutted up and acksed a que'tion in my stead regarding blogs, that'll be for another time. Let's just say when a technophobe/technoadversary such as Mr. Sedaris makes known such a stance, it can make for a fun conversation from Row F of the Orchestra Pit. Right on, Keelo.
She's sneezing like it's her 'tard power right NOW, and NOW.... and NOW, btw.
Grodes.
Satellite café, eat me.
Anywho, I am feenin' for tha A-Bomb like crazy right now, can't wait to get back to Seattle. Spokane should change their slogan to "Hey, there's plenty of room."
Long story short, I'm getting more college work thanks to an uppercut of a set at The Brickwall tonight.. or like 6 hours ago.
Oddly enough, the Brickwall Comedy Club in Spokane is now located in the basementé of... for those of you enthralled with last week's entries... The Budget Inn.
Thee, I shit not-eth.
Fist me running, The NFL Draft is like 5.5 hours away, and Killorn's gonna vlurp on the keyboard in the business center of a hotel that charges $150 a night just to pee indoors. Allergic like a mofo.
Bloggin' with Urkel,
Geoffers
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
To Mixed Reviews
Estacada, OR - ViewPointe Bar & Grill
The "Grill" in the name is a formality. It's a bar. A smokey, weird one, where every third Saturday is the town re-enactment of "The Accused" and no women are allowed, if'n you get my drift. I had to drive a winding, wet road through the middle of nowhere and what I hope was a Civil War re-enactment. As you can tell, Estacada isn't quite that progressive. I did come up with new slogans for them, however:
Estacada: Where The Men Are Men And The Women Are Bruised
and
Estacada: How Things Would Be If The South Had Won
Perhaps the residents who were at the bar were good people. Who knows? They didn't give me a chance to let it ride. People, for the most part, are middle-ground, and act with kindness to their fellow humans when called for, as long as it's not some comic trying to build an act who's interrupting a chicken-fried steak-fried chicken-steak & Ketchup/Mayo-gravy on fries! Hoo-weee. braaaaaaaaaaaaaap
There were a fair number of people in the venue when I arrived. The next guy to come in announced his presence after noticing a family of his friends (Three couples, including a mother & daughter), by shouting "Well HO-LEE SHEE-IT!" Indeed, fellow in the "I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am" T-shirt!
I then stood on a weird pulpit thing that may have been a stage at one time, when human cargo was still a viable form of currency. Jesus Fish jokes, flat. Jokes about big vaginas... siiiiigh... fantastic. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
I got out with my life, 7 laughs in 30 minutes, and got to watch Dwight Slade puppeteer the room. He could have killed for 45, but Dwight entertained himself much of the time. Masterful, professional, and hysterical.
Oregon City - Wichita Bar & Good Times, Saturday Night
After a hapless performance I was ready to uncork the humorist's equivalent of a night-cover airstrike. Just as I powered up and got into the air I took some FLAK from the front row. Two pipes, muzzle flash suppressed by Jack Daniels to my 2 o'clock, 11 o'clock dampened by an Absolut fog. I hadn't even cleared the base and things were getting soggy. Nothing to do but fire back and show them how I got these stripes.
Alright, enough cheese. These two monkies were in sad shape. The other 20 hours of their Saturday, these two people could be the nicest, sweetest kids to ever clock a shift at HotDog-On-A-Stick and knock back a Jumbo Beefaroni before heading to the Wichita. And they may be able to drink like Kennedys any other night of the weekend. But last Saturday night they were belligerent. I got two sentences out before they started asking questions and mentioning dildos and fingerless gloves (?!?!).
The girl cooled it after a return volley. The guy had no clue. I asked his name and he said "F*ckface." I figured it was Cherokee or some-such, and showed respect. Cableknit turtleneck, black cargo pants, fingerless gloves, shaved head, you get the picture. He was a Mike's Hard JuiceBox away from barfing near the pooltable, possibly into a cargo pocket or a woman with "-lene" at the end of her name.
Anyway, that set went much better, I worked in a couple of callbacks and did what I could to learn & survive. It's not a place to build the kind of act I want to build, where there would be some required reading to get the whole thing, but no sweat, overall. I had fun and got three new bits out of the shows.
And Portland's new slogans should be:
Portland: Hope You Like Books!
Portland: What The F Else Are You Gonna Do?
Portland: We Dare You To Try And Get Out.
Portland: Yeah, We Know... Sorry.
Alright, that's enough of that.
==============
And this was a teaser for a story on KING-5 news at 11...
"A story of amazing survival, listen to why doctors say this 10 year-old girl... should be dead!"
Whomever wrote that, okay'ed it for broadcast, and said it should have a heel dropped on their windpipe. The girl's 10 years old, and her heartwarming story on TV is prefaced with the doctor's giving an under-over in the deadpool.
Dennis Bounds, grow a scrote and say "No" now and again.
And don't forget to check out Seattle's Favorite Klepto, the Decrepit Canary Skeleton!
And why not Joel McHale, all gussied up now on E!'s "The Soup!"
The Kings Of Leon... please, can you stop loving yourselves for a second? Everything that's wrong with "new rock" begins and ends in the ironic mustache of that one Followill brother.
If ya need me, I'll be entering the bar shortly. Shades on my head, jacket over the shoulder, Dingo boots on, nose ring glistening, and a totally retro outfit workin'... Hells yeah.
=======================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The "Grill" in the name is a formality. It's a bar. A smokey, weird one, where every third Saturday is the town re-enactment of "The Accused" and no women are allowed, if'n you get my drift. I had to drive a winding, wet road through the middle of nowhere and what I hope was a Civil War re-enactment. As you can tell, Estacada isn't quite that progressive. I did come up with new slogans for them, however:
Estacada: Where The Men Are Men And The Women Are Bruised
and
Estacada: How Things Would Be If The South Had Won
Perhaps the residents who were at the bar were good people. Who knows? They didn't give me a chance to let it ride. People, for the most part, are middle-ground, and act with kindness to their fellow humans when called for, as long as it's not some comic trying to build an act who's interrupting a chicken-fried steak-fried chicken-steak & Ketchup/Mayo-gravy on fries! Hoo-weee. braaaaaaaaaaaaaap
There were a fair number of people in the venue when I arrived. The next guy to come in announced his presence after noticing a family of his friends (Three couples, including a mother & daughter), by shouting "Well HO-LEE SHEE-IT!" Indeed, fellow in the "I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am" T-shirt!
I then stood on a weird pulpit thing that may have been a stage at one time, when human cargo was still a viable form of currency. Jesus Fish jokes, flat. Jokes about big vaginas... siiiiigh... fantastic. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
I got out with my life, 7 laughs in 30 minutes, and got to watch Dwight Slade puppeteer the room. He could have killed for 45, but Dwight entertained himself much of the time. Masterful, professional, and hysterical.
Oregon City - Wichita Bar & Good Times, Saturday Night
After a hapless performance I was ready to uncork the humorist's equivalent of a night-cover airstrike. Just as I powered up and got into the air I took some FLAK from the front row. Two pipes, muzzle flash suppressed by Jack Daniels to my 2 o'clock, 11 o'clock dampened by an Absolut fog. I hadn't even cleared the base and things were getting soggy. Nothing to do but fire back and show them how I got these stripes.
Alright, enough cheese. These two monkies were in sad shape. The other 20 hours of their Saturday, these two people could be the nicest, sweetest kids to ever clock a shift at HotDog-On-A-Stick and knock back a Jumbo Beefaroni before heading to the Wichita. And they may be able to drink like Kennedys any other night of the weekend. But last Saturday night they were belligerent. I got two sentences out before they started asking questions and mentioning dildos and fingerless gloves (?!?!).
The girl cooled it after a return volley. The guy had no clue. I asked his name and he said "F*ckface." I figured it was Cherokee or some-such, and showed respect. Cableknit turtleneck, black cargo pants, fingerless gloves, shaved head, you get the picture. He was a Mike's Hard JuiceBox away from barfing near the pooltable, possibly into a cargo pocket or a woman with "-lene" at the end of her name.
Anyway, that set went much better, I worked in a couple of callbacks and did what I could to learn & survive. It's not a place to build the kind of act I want to build, where there would be some required reading to get the whole thing, but no sweat, overall. I had fun and got three new bits out of the shows.
And Portland's new slogans should be:
Portland: Hope You Like Books!
Portland: What The F Else Are You Gonna Do?
Portland: We Dare You To Try And Get Out.
Portland: Yeah, We Know... Sorry.
Alright, that's enough of that.
==============
And this was a teaser for a story on KING-5 news at 11...
"A story of amazing survival, listen to why doctors say this 10 year-old girl... should be dead!"
Whomever wrote that, okay'ed it for broadcast, and said it should have a heel dropped on their windpipe. The girl's 10 years old, and her heartwarming story on TV is prefaced with the doctor's giving an under-over in the deadpool.
Dennis Bounds, grow a scrote and say "No" now and again.
And don't forget to check out Seattle's Favorite Klepto, the Decrepit Canary Skeleton!
And why not Joel McHale, all gussied up now on E!'s "The Soup!"
The Kings Of Leon... please, can you stop loving yourselves for a second? Everything that's wrong with "new rock" begins and ends in the ironic mustache of that one Followill brother.
If ya need me, I'll be entering the bar shortly. Shades on my head, jacket over the shoulder, Dingo boots on, nose ring glistening, and a totally retro outfit workin'... Hells yeah.
=======================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Made It... barely...
At this time, the conclave has begun, and will begin discussing where I should have lunch. Come on, Sean John Quizno's.
Killorn, seriously... did you post somebody else's satirical take on Kevin Federline's drama? You'll have to re-take the WASL now. Killorn is better than that, isn't she, Class?
======
I usually use Mozilla FireFox, but it's got a glitch when I throw a hyperlink in this blog. And, shitting thee not-eth, I had IE open for exactly 2 minutes before the first pop-up. I don't want Smileys, I don't want a fish screensaver, my loan isn't coming through, University of Lower Cleveland Terwilliger Institute for Financial Harship can wipe their collective asses with the degree I won't be getting from them. Cripes, we can't stop a dancing chicken flash-animation from popping up, no fuggin' wonder Microsoft has to send out security patches all the time.
Microsoft isn't a monopoly. They engineer poorly so that other companies can make money. They all shook hands on in it over a sixer of Thomas Kemper Orange Sody-pop!
Go get FireFox.
======
Oh wait, now I get it.
"Meet the FOCKERS!." That's... whew... good one.
======
This is my first day back in the office after 3 weeks of working from home. Not much has changed. NoMakeup Sandie is still LA-HAT-HAFFING down the hall, a self-important Project Manager has called another meeting, the network is really slow, and people I report to are total maroons.
For the 5th time just now I told a woman that the January report she has previously asked me FOUR times for is not in existence. Ask again, it's not going to magically appear like some fantasmical father figure she missed at every Christmas.
I am leaving shortly to work from home again. Believe this: my laptop is running slower here than on DSL. Rad.
======
and now, Comedy Weekend Review!!!
~Budget Inn Motel Room: Oregon City, OR~
First up, the lobby. There was an overpowering melange of odors. Antiseptic cleanser, but not Lysol, more like when your dog has a tube hanging out and you can smell the healing process dancing the Tango with the iodine and scabs. Thank God they were burning incense, though. I would hate to take in ANY oxygen while gagging.
Next up, my room. Oh wow. I've stayed in some pretty nice places. This one was gross. The Zagat rating was 2 buttholes. On the way to my room, I passed Room 211, which had the window open and some desktop speakers on the windowsill. Blasting forth were the notes of Three Dog Cream, or FogShat or that 70's-era Freedom Rock crap. Also blasting forth was the singing of the inhabitant, who was "totally feeling it, man." He said that to another "dude" while rocking back a Hurricane tall-boy about an hour later.
I asked for a smoking room, and lucky me, they had one. The smoke kind of dampened the odor of despair, which smells a lot like Ranch Dressing, gas station Drakkar, and Jack Osbourne. My carpet was dark-ish. It could have been dark red, brown, gray, or green, I couldn't really tell. Looking down caused me to lose my balance. My room had two queen beds, HBO, and pubic lice. Room service was a bedpan and a needle exchange bucket. There were cigarette burns on the ledge of the tub, which was 18 inches from the toilet. Get the picture? People were smokin'... and crappin'. At least the meth cooks of previous stays were into time-management. Top it off with hot & cold running schizophrenia, and ya got yerself room 215.
The guy at the front desk had this request of me: "(My) room has two queen-size beds but please kindly use only one." I slept in my car. I only really needed a place to crap and smoke. Which ended up happening in the parking lot. Worry not, I was far from the first to break the barrier for that combo. Maybe I stepped over a burrito or a sock, I don't know, I don't like to get involved. There were cigarette burns on my bumper, so I had to keep my eyes peeled.
ESTACADA,OR: "What Would Have Happened If the South Had Won The Civil War."
Owen: No, I didn't make it to the Safari Club, but it was referenced numerous times as being the most ridiculous thing in the city.
I have to do some actual work now, so I'll be back in a bit.
More to come:
Estacada & Oregon City comedy reviews
New slogans for Portland
Are People Actually, Despite Much Empirical Evidence, Good?
What It Smells Like In Here
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Killorn, seriously... did you post somebody else's satirical take on Kevin Federline's drama? You'll have to re-take the WASL now. Killorn is better than that, isn't she, Class?
======
I usually use Mozilla FireFox, but it's got a glitch when I throw a hyperlink in this blog. And, shitting thee not-eth, I had IE open for exactly 2 minutes before the first pop-up. I don't want Smileys, I don't want a fish screensaver, my loan isn't coming through, University of Lower Cleveland Terwilliger Institute for Financial Harship can wipe their collective asses with the degree I won't be getting from them. Cripes, we can't stop a dancing chicken flash-animation from popping up, no fuggin' wonder Microsoft has to send out security patches all the time.
Microsoft isn't a monopoly. They engineer poorly so that other companies can make money. They all shook hands on in it over a sixer of Thomas Kemper Orange Sody-pop!
Go get FireFox.
======
Oh wait, now I get it.
"Meet the FOCKERS!." That's... whew... good one.
======
This is my first day back in the office after 3 weeks of working from home. Not much has changed. NoMakeup Sandie is still LA-HAT-HAFFING down the hall, a self-important Project Manager has called another meeting, the network is really slow, and people I report to are total maroons.
For the 5th time just now I told a woman that the January report she has previously asked me FOUR times for is not in existence. Ask again, it's not going to magically appear like some fantasmical father figure she missed at every Christmas.
I am leaving shortly to work from home again. Believe this: my laptop is running slower here than on DSL. Rad.
======
and now, Comedy Weekend Review!!!
~Budget Inn Motel Room: Oregon City, OR~
First up, the lobby. There was an overpowering melange of odors. Antiseptic cleanser, but not Lysol, more like when your dog has a tube hanging out and you can smell the healing process dancing the Tango with the iodine and scabs. Thank God they were burning incense, though. I would hate to take in ANY oxygen while gagging.
Next up, my room. Oh wow. I've stayed in some pretty nice places. This one was gross. The Zagat rating was 2 buttholes. On the way to my room, I passed Room 211, which had the window open and some desktop speakers on the windowsill. Blasting forth were the notes of Three Dog Cream, or FogShat or that 70's-era Freedom Rock crap. Also blasting forth was the singing of the inhabitant, who was "totally feeling it, man." He said that to another "dude" while rocking back a Hurricane tall-boy about an hour later.
I asked for a smoking room, and lucky me, they had one. The smoke kind of dampened the odor of despair, which smells a lot like Ranch Dressing, gas station Drakkar, and Jack Osbourne. My carpet was dark-ish. It could have been dark red, brown, gray, or green, I couldn't really tell. Looking down caused me to lose my balance. My room had two queen beds, HBO, and pubic lice. Room service was a bedpan and a needle exchange bucket. There were cigarette burns on the ledge of the tub, which was 18 inches from the toilet. Get the picture? People were smokin'... and crappin'. At least the meth cooks of previous stays were into time-management. Top it off with hot & cold running schizophrenia, and ya got yerself room 215.
The guy at the front desk had this request of me: "(My) room has two queen-size beds but please kindly use only one." I slept in my car. I only really needed a place to crap and smoke. Which ended up happening in the parking lot. Worry not, I was far from the first to break the barrier for that combo. Maybe I stepped over a burrito or a sock, I don't know, I don't like to get involved. There were cigarette burns on my bumper, so I had to keep my eyes peeled.
ESTACADA,OR: "What Would Have Happened If the South Had Won The Civil War."
Owen: No, I didn't make it to the Safari Club, but it was referenced numerous times as being the most ridiculous thing in the city.
I have to do some actual work now, so I'll be back in a bit.
More to come:
Estacada & Oregon City comedy reviews
New slogans for Portland
Are People Actually, Despite Much Empirical Evidence, Good?
What It Smells Like In Here
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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